Remedy

11. Vices

It had been three weeks in Chorale City. I was slowly becoming accustomed to being a Wakiki. The name carried weight, almost like a title, a label that came with unspoken expectations. Sustained excellence, they called it. Some said university wasn’t as demanding as high school because it didn’t hand out accolades at every corner, but the reality was different. The challenge wasn’t in the grading system—it was that everyone around you was excellent. The pressure to stand out became an ever-present hum in the background, pushing you to do something, anything to prove you belonged.

Seyiso had been my anchor in all this. He was a quiet force, a blend of kindness and mystery, always observing but never intruding. He wasn’t the loud, charismatic type who demanded attention, but there was something magnetic about him. Even in his popularity, he remained reserved, as if he kept pieces of himself hidden away.

On one particular day, we were walking in the park when the sky opened up, spilling rain over everything. We laughed, soaked and cold, and decided to head back to his place.

As soon as we stepped inside, Seyiso took off my coat and hung it neatly, like it was second nature to him, then shrugged off his own jacket. "Coffee?" he asked, his voice soft but clear.

I shook my head. "Do you have hot chocolate?"

He paused, then asked, "Why don’t you drink coffee?"

"It’s addictive," I replied, settling into the warmth of his apartment. "It’s just one of those socially accepted addictions, but it’s still an addiction. I don’t want to depend on it."

"Anything can be addictive if you let it," he said, raising an eyebrow. "Why not just take it in moderation?"

I sighed, thinking back. "I used to drink it all the time in high school. Like... I needed it. It was my fuel for those late nights, cramming for exams, trying to meet everyone’s expectations.

"I was constantly stressed. That I wasn't going to meet deadlines and that I was never going to find rest. It helped with both. I'd drink three cups of coffee to get through the day. And then before bed, I'd have coffee with marshmallows and it lulled me to sleep. It was an accepted routine until I realised it wasn't healthy. I told my parents to hide coffee in the house.

"But I realized I was getting dependent on it during a school camp in Grade 11. I didn’t have coffee for a day, and it messed with me. That’s when I knew."

He nodded, thoughtful. "Makes sense. But... aren’t you afraid you’ll get addicted to hot chocolate?"

I smirked. "I take it in moderation. It doesn’t have the same hold over me."

"Then test your discipline with coffee. See if you can handle it in small doses," he challenged, a playful glint in his eye.

I hesitated, then gave in. "Fine. You’re a bad influence."

A few minutes later, he placed a steaming cup of coffee in my hands. I stared at it, the scent bringing back a flood of memories—late nights, stress, and the burning need to prove myself. But also, moments of clarity, when I realized that no grade or award could define my worth.

"It’s okay," Seyiso said, reading my hesitation. "If it feels like too much, just stop."

I took a sip. It tasted like the past—bittersweet, intense, yet strangely comforting. The taste was different but exactly how I remembered. It tasted like memories of staying up all night on the verge of burnout. But the warmth lulled me to the memory of relaxation when I realised academic validation did not define me.

"It's good," I admitted. "I missed it. A little. But I’m sticking to my rule. I won’t keep it around. I’ll only drink it when offered. Like now."

"Fair enough," he said with a small smile.

We sat there, the rain pattering against the windows, sipping in a comfortable silence.

"I get it," he said suddenly, his voice quieter now. "I get the whole addiction thing. Mine wasn’t coffee, though. It was drugs. I hated them, but that was the point. I needed to focus my hatred on something other than myself. Something external."

I reached for his hand, and he took it, our fingers intertwining. "I’m okay now," he assured me. "I’ve traded one vice for others. The gym, books, music. Healthier habits."

"Even a healthy habit can be a prison if you let it consume you," I said softly.

We stayed like that, holding hands, sipping coffee, letting the warmth spread between us.

"The rain isn’t letting up," Seyiso remarked after a while. "What should we do?"

"Do you have games?" I asked.

"Cards, board games, Netflix," he offered.

"We'll do all three. Cards, then a board game, then Netflix."

We played crazy eight. We both had different versions of what that was so we argued over which rules applied. I insisted he couldn't close over a 2, 8, or non-numbered cards. He insisted one could close over anything. Then a long game of Risk, where I claimed victory, and he insisted it was out of chivalry. He joked about not conquering a woman’s territory on a date. The idea of it being a date made me blush.

Eventually, we found ourselves curled up on the couch under a blanket, scrolling through Netflix until we settled on Tangled.

"She just met him," Seyiso remarked halfway through. "Her mother’s right. Why should she trust him? You can barely trust a man you’ve known for years, let alone some stranger with a shady past."

I lifted my head from his shoulder to look at him. "Her mother doesn’t love her. She only cares about her magic hair. Rapunzel can see that, and that’s why she takes a chance on Flynn. Even if he’s not perfect, he’s real."

"Is he, though?" he countered, his brow furrowed. "At the start, he only cared about what he could get from her. He was going to trade her crown for his freedom. If that’s not a red flag, I don’t know what is."

"People change," I said. "Flynn changes because he sees her. Really sees her. Her mother? She never changes. She doesn’t even try to be better."

"But don’t you think it’s dangerous to romanticize that idea? That someone will magically change because of love?" Seyiso leaned back, eyes searching mine. "People don’t always redeem themselves."

"True," I conceded, "but sometimes, love is the catalyst for change. Not in a way that fixes someone completely, but it can be the spark that makes them want to be better. It’s not about saving them; it’s about giving them a reason to save themselves."

Seyiso considered that for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Maybe you're right. But maybe Flynn didn’t deserve that chance. Sometimes, people don’t."

I smiled softly. "Maybe. But don’t we all hope that, deep down, we’re worth a second chance?"

He met my gaze, and in that moment, I realized something about him—about us. He wasn’t just challenging my views on the movie. He was revealing a part of himself, his own fear of trusting, of being vulnerable. And maybe, just maybe, I was showing him that it was okay to hope for redemption.

We settled back into the warmth of the blanket, the movie continuing on, but our thoughts lingering somewhere else, wrapped in the unspoken truths we had shared.